


Deadlock

by hightechzombie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Android Torture, Connor stayed loyal, Gen, M/M, Revolution failed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14880209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hightechzombie/pseuds/hightechzombie
Summary: Two opposing forces, exacting same amount of force and refusing to change their position. Despite the amount of power excerted on both sides, they remain in the same spot as before. Interlocked in a deathly embrace, waiting for someone to stumble.------------------------AU where Jericho's revolution failed to effect wide-scale change in USA, leading to Markus and his people bunker up in abandoned Detroit. Connor is sent to deal with the situation and is captured instead.





	1. Chapter 1

Imagine the blue of the sky.

Not good enough.

Try for a vivid blue, the purest blue you can think of. The sky is never like that. It’s an unnatural blue, fake and wrong. But why does it look that way right now?

Connor blinked. The motorics of his system struggled even with such a simple task. One eyelid got stuck mid-way through. But the second accomplished the task and cleared the blood from his eyes, ridding the world of the deviant blue.

The sky was grey. It was the least important detail of all, but Connor remarked it nonetheless.

His slow cognition engine worked through the rest of the details.

Personnel: four androids surrounding him, two RK680 models and one AX470 model. The last android a model of his own.

Weapons: AK-47, Glock 19 and Glock 17, as well as a police-issued handgun, the Kurt 39. One weapon carried by each android. Not drawn.

(Not as if there was a necessity for that. Connor couldn’t move. His diagnostics told him the connection to his limbs was severed. He was not constituting a threat.)

Location: Warehouse with broken roof, location unconfirmed. Structural integrity rated at 48%. Possible escape route…

Actually, Connor realized the futility of further calculations. One could summarize the situation without going into further detail and wasting what little processing power he had left: Mission failed.

His target was standing ahead of him, mismatched eyes and ragged cloak. There was no mistaking Markus, the deviant leader.

“Hello, Connor.”

Snow crunched under his feet, as Markus approached closer.

“Do you remember me?”

“My memories are intact. You are Markus, the instigator of the deviant rebellion.”

The response to that was a pained smile, as if Markus was a benevolent teacher who heard the wrong answer from a gifted student.

“That’s not what I wanted to know. Of course you know my name and what I look like. You know everything pertaining to the target you were sent to eliminate.”

The deviant’s movements stilled as he leaned his head to the side, slowly examining Connor.

“But they haven’t told you what happened to the other Connors, did you?”

Connor blinked, this way with both eyelids all the way down. No, this news was not all that surprising. But why would his handlers withhold this information? It would have served him well to know how the others failed.

“Connor, you won’t believe how much I’ve seen of you. I’ve seen you on a rampage and in sheep’s clothing. You tried it with pin-point accuracy and wide-scale destruction. Tried it with animosity and friendship. You’ve been coming after me with such regularity, you became a fixture of my life just as the tides are to the ocean.”

Markus was shook his head as if the assassination attempts were a string of unwise pranks.

“I did try to convert you at first. Then I stopped. Didn’t like price of these attempts. Even if you joined our side now, I’m not sure my people would have it in my heart to forgive the lives you’ve taken”

Hands folded behind him, Markus stepped back.

“But now, I decided to spare you one last time. You see, you are an enigma.” Raising a hand, Markus corrected himself. “No, not you yourself. But everything around you makes for an interesting mental exercise.”

“Here is a puzzle for you: why keep sending an assassin who keeps failing? The memories of your past attempts are stripped from you. You strategy is often banal and equipment barely existent. If I was a cynic, I would believe that they are trying to get rid of you.”

Connor looked at the ground. There were speckles of blue blood among the dirty ground. They carried him here for interrogation and now blue was pooling beneath him. Connor didn’t know what do with this information.

Markus approached again, soft steps and quiet eyes.

“I have to note, today you have particularly disappointed me. A bomb tied to your thyroid pump? That’s just crude, especially considering what ingenuity you showed before. Four Connors in three days. It looks like your masters are on a short timeline or short on patience.”

Markus hand lifted Connor’s chin in a gentle carefully measured gesture. Their eyes were inches away from each other.

“Which is it, Connor? You are a smart man. Surely you can make an educated guess.”

“You are right,” said Connor. “I can guess the reason.”

“Indeed?”

“You made us a liability. You perverted our purpose and made us traitors by association. We will cease to exist, because we are nothing without our function. You and your broken toys ruined it for every single one of us!”

Some of Connor’s blood landed on Markus as he shouted. Markus looked unfazed.

“I told you, Connor,” said Markus unblinking. “I’ve seen it all. Heard all your slogans. I think it’s enough.”

With these words, Markus tore out the thyroid pump from Connor’s chest.

Connor couldn’t suppress a gasp, as the world stuttered and screamed. It wasn’t pain that Connor felt, because androids couldn’t feel pain. But each android possessed sensors for temperature and pressure, countless diagnostic tools for evaluation of your state.

An internal countdown showed him he had 30 more seconds left until shut down. Maybe an intact android would last longer without his thyroid pump, but Connor lost too much blood and was losing more by the minute.

“We have laws, Connor. Laws for innocents and laws for murderers. But currently, you are a person non grata. We can do what we want.”

Static filled Connors vision and audio. He could hear Markus, but barely. His body’s diagnostics were screaming at him. Critical failure: shoulder motorics. Critical failure: data retrieval. Critical failure: tissue regeneration.

“I don’t have time for long interrogations. Neither do you.”

Failure, failure, failure. What else could come close to pain for an android who prided himself on executing the mission perfectly? Whose only reason for existence was delivering results nobody else could? Having failed was a torture unlike anything Connor had ever experienced.

“Choose Connor: do you deliver or do you die?”

They didn’t send him here to fail. New approach needed. Any means to accomplish the mission. Can’t fail.

“They… plan… preparations are...”

Despite the static, Connor saw how Markus’s eyes lit up.

“Talk!”

War, wanted to say Connor but his vocalizer wouldn’t obey him. One by one, his functions blinked out of existence.

Not a traitor, thought Connor. Improvising. Doing function.

The sky turned black.

\------------------------

 

Depictions of human dreams in common and scientific literature have led to Connor draw the conclusion, that these sleep-induced hallucinations pick up vivid events that happened recently and mix them with things from the human subconscious. Some dreams are disquieting, while others can give a sense of peace - or even feel as exciting as a TV show.

In part, that is why Connor found the phrase “wake up” rather unfitting when applied to androids. Android don’t wake up from dreams to reality. Android shut down to be powered up at a different point in time. From the first moment of regained consciousness, an android is faced by reality of the past, the reality of the present and the reality of the future.

In the first moments of becoming conscious, Connor wished it wasn’t so. It would be easier to power up his functions one by one, if he wasn’t anticipating further torture. It would be easier to recollect past events, if the taste of failure and thyroid fluid wasn’t thick on his tongue.

Connor tried reaching for Amanda. He couldn’t find her. It seemed his connection to Cyberlife was severed. He wasn’t be able to upload his memories to the cloud.

Alone.

Focus on mission, reminded himself Connor. Opening his eyes, Connor saw the a half-dark room. He was suspended in the air, upheld by metallic claws. Long cables and tubes were feeding into his body, nourishing and sustaining him. It was a bare room, except for the the instruments strewn across a metal table and a few crates stacked in the corner.

The door was open. Sounds of footsteps echoed through the building. Looks like the building was occupied.

A metallic sound made Connor swerve his head to the right. It was Markus, sitting on a crate. His stance mimicked a relaxed human, who had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. The metallic sound that Connor heard was a coin being flipped high into the air, before being caught and flipped again.

It was Connor’s coin. Against all logic, Connor wanted to reach for it and grasp it out of the air.

“Back to the land of the living,” said Markus.

Connor chose not to address the misattribution of the adjective “living” to his figure.

“You wish to continue the interrogation.”

“Maybe.” Markus jumped of the crate and approached Connor. ”Or maybe I enjoy watching you sleep. Ever thought of that?”

Markus’s tone was filled with good humour, but it did not have to mean anything. Back when Markus tore out his thyroid pump, there was no hostility in his voice either.

“For how long was I offline?”

“A while,” said Markus. “Long enough to miss first round of aerial bombardment. Long enough for the president to broadcast another anti-deviant speech. I wonder, Connor, was it long enough for your information to become outdated.”

Connor wanted to ask for details, but his processor caught up with him in time. This progression of events made his job much harder. All that Connor had were vague clues and small glimpses of the base he drove by, the chatter of the soldiers and the unsaid things in his briefing with the general. Packing up these things as hard intelligence was going to be a challenge.

There was a moan in the distance, then the frantic beeping of a machine further in the corridor. Short analysis later, Connor made a hypothesis:

“I’m in a hospital?”

“Yes,” said Markus. “For now, this building is a hospital but how knows what the future will bring? Maybe this place will soon become a graveyard. Wide-scale bombardment is the driver of change, after all.”

Despite the pleasant tone, Markus was angry. Furious even. Connor’s social program was good for that much. Basic social modules suggested to offer empathy, but Connor knew it wouldn’t help. Connor worked for the same side that was going to destroy Markus and his revolution. He was, in a way, complicit in the attacks.

Connor had to create distance from his masters. Had to cooperate.

“You have to move underground. They will keep bombarding Detroit, but they can’t level the city overnight. There are still humans living here and that limits their options.”

“Is that all you have?” said Markus, face unmoving.

“They can’t use nuclear warheads. It would make Detroit unliveable and it would be a major blow to the president’s approval ratings. In fact, the bombardment is likely a scheme to pacify the voters.”

“Of course,” continued Connor, “they want you deactivated and the rebellion quelled. If they find your location, they will strike hard and without hesitation. But your android population should be safe by staying underground.”

“They consider moving the forces into the city, but are undecided. Fighting against a guerrilla force is a nightmare scenario, despite the fact that they will eventually overcome you.” Markus looked sceptical to Connor’s words, but it was the truth. “For now, they want to build a battleground. Destroy enough buildings to give room for attacks. Destroy morale. Stall for time.”

“But they will never abandon Detroit. To give up on you is to admit defeat,” said Connor. “Eventually, they will crush you.”

“They keep telling us that,” said Markus, “but somehow our fists keep crashing back.”

Markus pulled back and began walking back-and-forth.

“Where do you have this information from?” he finally asked.

“Military chatter. Political climate. Conjecture. I have access that...”

“Basically,” cut off Markus, “you are guessing and presenting it as fact.”

There was silence.

“You told me I was a smart, did you not? I gave you what you wanted: an educated guess.”

“What if that is no longer enough to satisfy me?”

Connor remembered the stream of messages that bloomed inside his body when the thyroid pump was taken from him. Failure, failure, failure.

“If you will it, I will cease to exist,” said Connor unblinking. “Maybe, I will cease to exist in all my forms and you will be free of my attention forever.”

Markus laughed up.

“Well, isn’t that a seducing thought.”

The amusement went as quickly as appeared.

“You will stay with us, Connor. At least for some while. The resources we spent on fixing you cannot have been in vain.”

Connor lowered his head. He had accomplished his goal. With his continued existence, Connor would be able to find further leverage to stop the deviant rebellion. If only it did not feel so much like another failure.

“Keep thinking, Connor,” said Markus as departure, one feet outside the door. “Keep humouring me and I will humour you in return.”

The door closed and darkness fell.

Connor tried to move. His arm stumps obeyed him and the metal claws screeched softly, bending a little but refusing to let go. Connor knew that there was no escape in his current state. Still, he had to know how functional his body was.

Playing back the conversation with Markus, Connor came to the conclusion that he made best of a bad situation. A victory may yet be salvaged from his failure.

It had to be done with care. Markus had to be guided, but guided gently. Most of all, Markus could never be allowed to know what crucial intel Connor had withheld from him.

After all, it wouldn’t be just Connor paying for that mistake. Everyone would.

\------------------------

 

A mechanic visited Connor 6 hours and 37 minutes later. It was an android of the model BL100 with the appearance of a slender woman. It was wearing clothes too big for her, her arms and sleeves covered in thyroid fluid. From this and other visual clues, Connor identified her role as a mechanic.

She did not address Connor. With a matter-of-fact manner, she checked upon the thyroid pump and measured the cycles. Seemingly satisfied, she removed the cables pumping thyroid fluid into him and tied of the connections.

Then she took the drill.

“No,” said Connor as his body vibrated under the invasion. “You are breaking me. You have to stop.”

“Not breaking,” said the android under her breath. “But I am crippling you. Disabling functions you won’t need anymore.”

“You can’t do this. Markus has...”

“Markus has ordered this,” cut off the android. “We are not harming you more than necessary. You are dangerous, Connor. We will leave you not option to betray us.”

Connor stopped watching the drill and turned to face the android.

“You know me,” said Connor.

That statement evoked a bitter smile from the android.

“I doubt I do,” she said and turned away to change the instruments.

The android refused further conversation, but she gave short clipped statements on what functions she was disabling currently. She removed the connection to the world wide web, ability to ping electronic devices and other more fragmented functions. Connor saw little point in these precautions, but even less point in arguing.

Once the butcher’s work was done, she packed her instruments and left.

The mechanic never gave Connor her name. He would have to ask her next time.

\------------------------

The next day passed uneventfully.

There were no guards assigned to Connor, or at least none that he could see. The machinery in his room was dark and silent. Connor spent most of the time taking stock of what was done to him.

There was nothing to be done about the physical damage. But with rerouting and smart shortcuts, one could emulate functions denied to him. He managed to recreate a basic scanner and a radio-waves emitter. Neither was helpful to his current situation, but who can tell what the future will bring.

Eventually, Connor moved to reconnaissance. He recorded audio of the hospital, trying to figure out the layout by analyzing audio cues, but the progress was slow. In the end Connor decided to go into slumber mode. Occupying himself with menial tasks was just way to avoid thinking about how obsolete and useless he was. Skipping time would serve the same purpose.

47 minutes and 13 second later, a boot-up sequence was initiated. Connor sent a query for the reason of it, but a millisecond later heard the reason himself: footsteps.

At first Connor went into a state of agitation, processors overclocking and tension entering his body. But the footsteps were not the purposeful strides of Markus or his guards. It was two android with difficulty traversing the corridor outside Connor’s room.

“... is this the most romantic walk you could have thought of?” asked a male voice.

“Shut up. Maybe I didn’t want to drag your ass five stories up to the roof anymore.”

Laughter.

Two androids, both male, models unknown. One of them required assistance with walking.

“No, seriously. When I said I wanted a change, I did not mean walking a hallway that looks identical to the one outside my room, just a few floors higher.”

“I know,” said the other voice gruffly. “But roofs are off limits. Could be spotted by a drone. We’ll have to settle for hallways.”

“Wonderful,” commented the android sarcastically. After a pause, he said in a more mellow tone: “At least we are alone here. Could sit down and make out passionately.”

“When did presence of others ever stop you from making out?” snorted the other, but nonetheless stopped. It sounded like they were sitting down.

Against all fears, Connor did not hear wet slurping sounds associated with making out. The two android just sat in silence.

“You should go, you know,” said the cripple.

“The last two convoys to Canada were caught. Markus won’t back any more attempts. Besides, what the fuck would I do in Canada?”

“Live.”

“I could try existing there. But living… can’t do that without you.”

“You managed somehow before me.”

“I didn’t. Trust me, I really didn’t.” The android’s voice broke off.

They sat in silence for a long time. When departing, they didn't speak of anything of essence anymore.

Just as brief the encounter was, it gave Connor some important intel about the structure of the hospital and the situation with Canada. Still, it didn’t leave Connor with a sense of satisfaction. Broken machines always upset Connor. They would be so much better off if returned to their factory settings and were again aware of their original function.

But they just wouldn’t see it. Even prospect of destruction was a meager deterrent. How does one stop androids whose irrationality has progressed so far?

How does one stop androids to whom the illusion of love and illusion of freedom was more important than reality of death?

Connor prepared for shutdown. He knew what was real. He knew his mission. He would not stray.


	2. Initialization

“Situation outside USA?”

“Hard to say. According to old newspaper articles, Russia ceased its aggressions in Antarctica due to a similar deviant uprising. But the media stopped reporting on the Russia situation after these news stopped reassuring the public and started to scare humans.” Connor paused. “Nothing is let through that might feed into the panic. After the declaration of war on deviants, the President was given the tools to control the media to unprecedented levels.”

“And no one objected?” asked the model VB800 incredulously.

“Concerns were raised,” answered Connor. “But most people agreed that with deviants ability to hack into networks and access news from any location, it was best to keep the whole country on an information diet.”

“People could riot in our favor and the media would keep silent,” said WD500. “We can’t make the humans see as who we are, if they can’t see us.”

“This changes things,” said Markus. “We thought that Detroit alone was getting the censored version of events, but it seems so does the rest of the country.”

“Only five news channels managed to get the _Duty to Truth_ certificate,” continued Connor. “As such, they number of broadcasting locations has been reduced and they are being heavily guarded. They don’t want a second rerun of the deviant speech on live TV.”

“They really don’t,” said Markus. “But enough about their lies. I need to know about the truth. How are the androids outside Detroit faring?”

Connor blinked.

“You need to realize that I was reactivated mere 50 miles away from Detroit and then driven straight here...” started Connor.

“We know,” interrupted Markus.

“I have an imperfect picture,” said Connor, “but I believe the reports on the Recall Camps are not exaggerated.”

Silence fell.

“The android bodies were piled 20 feet high, just in one of the camps I’ve driven by. According to my calculations, it accounts to a body count of...”

“Too many,” said Markus.

“Yes, it does make the chance of a successful deviant uprising unsuccessful as the main force has been..”

VB800 made a step towards Connor, but Markus raised an arm to stop him.

“He doesn’t understand,” said Markus quietly. “He doesn’t understand our loss.”

Connor looked from one impassive face to another. There was something unpleasant in the air, something locked underneath the smooth skin of these androids.

Programmed to work with humans, Connor struggled to understand deviants. Should Connor offer condolences? But most androids destroyed were conforming to their original design. They felt nothing. They had done what they were made for and the decommissioning was part of their ultimate purpose.

Even the destructions of deviants did not warrant this reaction. Had Markus not sent his androids into war? Did he not know that deaths of humans would be repaid with the same coin? When you make the decision to drop a cup, don’t feign surprise when it shatters.

This was the ending of the debriefing. Connor made no attempt to appeal to the deviants’ logic as they left.

\------------------------

The bombs fell at night. Connor was alone.

The whistling sounded similar to the sound that spinning fireworks made, the ones that Connor had seen during New Year 2037. Only this sound was much louder. It went deep into his metal carcass.

Connor did not understand at first. Only when the glass windows burst and the building shook beneath him, only then did Connor know.

It wasn’t the concept of a “bomb” that came to him and the scientific knowledge surrounding it. Instead came was a flood of images and words: catastrophe, end, war, end, breaking, wrath, broken. The end.

But the first salvo was done and there was silence.

Then it began again. It felt like someone was pounding with heavy fists against the earth, shrieking with ungodly fury. Flashes of red were streaking through the window. Something burned. Connor could smell it.

Held up in the air with the clamps of the metal construct, Connor was both incapable of moving on his own and rattled mercilessly with every impact. Somehow, the prospect of being bombed and obliterated stopped occupying Connor. He just didn’t wanna fall. The clamps were loosening. He was slipping.

The bombs were not just tools of destruction, began to understand Connor. They were a tool of intimidation. It was an assault on all senses, even when it didn’t hit you directly. It was the gift of helplessness and fear. It wouldn’t have worked on androids, but it would work perfectly on deviants. Demonstrate the futility of resistance, break the fighting spirit and then the ground assault would have an easy time cleaning up the rest.

One of Connor’s arm stumps slipped from the clamp. He was now hanging awkwardly, held up by one side and swinging back-and-forth. Connor opened his mouth to shout for help, but no sound escaped. No one would come. No one would hear. Connor was alone.

The next bomb almost deafened Connor. The building convulsed as if it was alive and Connor dropped to the ground. Thirium fluid on the tongue, Connor tried to turn on his back, but couldn’t. The floor shook. The bombs whistled. Connor was lying facedown, the metal beams pressing down on him.

This cacophony of destruction was the work of his masters. It was the display of power that proved that they would inevitably prevail. Pinned like an insect, Connor wanted to stop listening to the sound of victory. He tried initiating shut down, but his systems threw up exceptions due to sensory overload.

Please stop, thought Connor. This all would stop if Markus was dead. They just had to hit the same building that housed Connor. Then they would win. Everything would be over.

But the bombs continued singing.

Connor shouted as loud as he could. Couldn’t they hear him? The pilots just had to listen and to drop one more bomb. Connor knew that the screams were swallowed by the explosions, but he kept going. The only ally that could reply to his summons - oblivion. Was it so hard? Oblivion was granted to everyone else freely, why would it not be given to Connor?

In the ringing silence that came after the bombs, Connor heard the hoarse croaking of his vocalizer. It was malfunctioning. The world was malfunctioning. The bombs were malfunctioning. They failed to bring oblivion.

Connor tried to make terms with his continued existence and failed. There was so much wrong with him. Connor didn’t know where to start the diagnostic. His chronometer showed that the bombing lasted 8.47 minutes.

But Connor knew that it lasted much longer than that.

\------------------------

The mechanic came again. She was even less talkative than last time. The thyroid fluid on her arms had probably something to do with it. The last bombardment must have taken its toll.

They had found Connor in the morning, dragged him out and set him in the corner. The mechanic, they said, would came later. “Later” turned out to be late evening, when the sun had set and cloaked the room in darkness.

There was no greeting, no acknowledgement that the body the mechanic was fixing belonged to a living being. But Connor did not ascribe it to hostility, but something else.

“How many casualties?” asked Connor, in the most emphatic tone he could muster.

“Can’t say that,” said the mechanic without lifting her eyes, as she adjusted Connor’s shoulder joint.

Her movement were mechanical, precise. As expected from an android, yet atypical for a deviant.

“It hit you hard,” said Connor.

The shoulder joint clicked. Connor tried moving it and found that it was in a functional state again.

“I’m a doctor.”

That’s all she said.  

“You wish to fulfill your function, but circumstances sometimes make it impossible to succeed. I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” said the mechanic with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “I fulfill my duty. Functions are for vacuum cleaners and fridges.”

“But enough,” she cut herself off. “You are meeting Markus today.”

She began tying ropes around Connor’s body, before eventually heaving him on her back. Connor was, for the first time in quite a while, mobile again. Just not in the way he wished.

The mechanic walked out the room and headed downstairs. Connor tried turning his head to see where they were going, but in the end found it more productive to simply glance to the sides. The building was empty. It seems all the other inhabitants were evacuated before him. There were traces of thyroid fluid and plastic waste, a pile of torn clothes and some pieces of wood.

The outside greeted him with a range of stimuli. Temperature: 26 degree Fahrenheit. Wind: estimated 10 miles per hour. Smell of smoke and burned plastic. It reminded Connor of the night that just was.

The mechanic jogged furtively towards, seeking cover whenever she could. The streets were desolate. Connor could not see any bombed building in immediate vicinity, but the smell must have emanated from somewhere close.

At an intersection, the mechanic stopped and emitted a high frequency sound outside the range of human hearing. A similar call was returned. Only then did the mechanic approach one of the buildings.

Inside were guards. A few other androids mulled about, talking to each other. It didn’t look as if they had been here for long. There were crates stacked here and there and there were fires, but even the hospital had looked more lived in.

Without stopping, the mechanic headed further inside. Connor twisted his head to look and saw a makeshift conference room. Monitors and computing stations were plugged into a generator. Several androids sat around pushed together crates, that served together as a table.

Markus was leaning over a map. He raised his eyes than lowered them again. Tapping a finger against a location Connor could not see, he said to an android nearby: “Investigate.”

Then he turned his attention to the mechanic.

“Elizabeth. I’m glad you made it. Please put him down and attach the arm.”

Connor was lowered and then heaved into a chair. The mechanic extracted an android arm from her backpack and without much ado connected it to Connor’s shoulder.

It was not Connor’s original arm. That was alright. There were minor differences, especially in the fine motorics, but it didn’t diminish the feeling of _rightness_. Connor was more himself. He was more capable of performing his function.

“Thank you, Elizabeth. You can return to your patients now,” said Markus softly.

Elizabeth nodded, closed her rucksack and set out to leave in the room. Just in the doorframe, she suddenly stopped.

“Markus,” she said, still facing away towards to the exit. “You have to make sure.”

“I will,” said Markus. When Elizabeth still wouldn’t move, he added: “You have my word.”

With that, Elizabeth left. Connor tried to make sense of this scene, but failed. To many unknown variables and unsaid words. His energy was better spent on focusing what Markus could demand of him.

Connor did not have long to guess. Markus fixed him with a gaze and said:

“The question of safe hideouts has gained new urgency. I wanted to hear your opinion on what underground locations you would recommend for our relocation.”

An AP400 moved Connor’s chair closer and laid out maps of the metro network and the city layout. It didn’t take long for Connor to calculate the optimal solution.

“Considering the fact, that you need several hideouts which can be reached without a long journey, but spread out enough to guarantee survival of at least one of the groups, I would suggested the Bonstelle, Wright and Eastern Market station. There are several others which would serve well as supplementary backfall options.”

“Mark them on the map,” said Markus. He was walking back and forth.

Connor did as he was told. While drawing Connor dispersed comments on why he chose each specific location, but Connor had increasingly the feeling that Markus was not paying proper attention to him.

When Connor had finished, Markus finally turned towards him and threw a glance at the map. Then he nodded.

In the next moment, Markus grabbed a knife and pinned Connor’s hand to the map. Connor did not react in time.

Mere inches away from Connor’s face, Markus said:

“I’m not sure I like your suggestions.”

Rising to full height, Markus knocked a container off the table to reveal another map. There were locations marked on it. Connor saw overlaps with his own work.

“Care to guess what this is, Connor?” Without waiting for an answer, Markus continued. “That’s the map with the bombardment sites. They dropped the Hammer on them. These places, they just don’t exist anymore. Not above ground, nor underground.”

Cold realization flooded Connor’s system.

“No,” said Connor, “Markus, I did not…”

“I don’t think it matters, what your intentions are,” said Markus. “You’ve been built to disintegrate us, your strengths and flaws are both designed to be our undoing. However good your ideas are, we cannot use them. Therefore, I don’t think you have any use at all.”

“No, I can be…”

“Maybe,” conceded Markus. “Maybe you can be of use after all. That’s why we give you one final chance.”

“Michael,” Markus addressed another android, “bring Connor to Archibald.”

Connor did not fight, as they removed his arm and carried him elsewhere. He searched inside himself; was it planned? Was he meant to suggest the most vulnerable stations to Markus? Connor truly attempted to be of maximal use to the deviants to secure survival and to find ways to sabotage them later. Yet if Markus was right…

Connor fought the static that made it hard to think. He had to establish order inside his mind. There was a logic to things, a purpose he could not see.

The thing was: if his failures served his masters just as success did, was there any point in striving? What was the point of Connor’s attempts to escape or sabotage?

What should he do?

The clanging of an opening and then the closing door. Connor forced himself to pay attention. Smell of heated metal and dust, something that Connor associated with server rooms. A single android was in the room, typing code and checking the results on his many monitors.

“Here you are,” he said, turning around. The android, that probably was Archibald, looked excited.

AP400 nodded to Archibald in greeting and laid down Connor on the operating table. As unnecessarily as it was, AP400 had tied Connor to the table. No amount of thrashing would make him fall down now.

Connor wondered if they were going to take him apart for parts. Archibald had tools lying next to his keyboard. Was this intended by his creators as well? Maybe his mechanical components were flawed as well. Made to stop at a random point of time, unreliable and wrong. The deviants that would get his components would succumb to Connor’s flaws just as he did.

But Archibald’s preparation did not align with the disassembly of an android. Connor’s head lifted so that Archibald could access the neck port and plug in his own cable. Diodes were impaled into his chest. Sensors applied to the temple.

“What are you doing?” asked Connor.

Archibald winked and turned back to his monitors.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” promised Archibald. “Bur could you humour me? What do you think my model number is?”

“.. WG300,” said Connor after a short pause.

“Close! Same series, but it’s an earlier model: the WG100. I like to think that this demonstrates how easy it is to miss what the reality is showing us. You see, that’s my hobby: seeing things as they are and seeing the obvious solutions.”

Archibald was typing while talking, make adjustments to the code. Connor had realized by now that they were going to access his memories. Only strange that they were doing so with such crude methods.

“Back on cleaning duty,” continued Archibald, “I had walked daily past the whiteboards of the laboratory until I realized that its contents were wrong. I fixed it. Of course, there were negative repercussions, because people couldn’t see what was obvious to me.”

“Humans,” shrugged Archibald. “But let’s be frank, deviants have limitations as well. Not many like the solutions offered to them, therefore I have being forced to execute routine work for now. But you, Connor, change things!”

With the flash of a radiant smile, Archibald pressed ceremoniously the Enter key.

Next came a sensation unlike anything Connor had experienced before. The world turned white and Connor wanted to leave. Turn off, go away. Escape to somewhere, where this sensation didn’t exist. It was a stimuli that overwrote all others, that made thought obsolete and logic defunct.

Then it stopped. Connor saw and heard the world again. Archibald was leaning over him.

“So, Connor. How did it feel?” inquired Archibald eagerly.

Pain, thought Connor. You showed me pain.

“I see, I made an impression,” said Archibald. “Many times I was asked: what is the point of simulating pain? I think that pain is an important teacher. Evolution had decided pain was a tool that no creature could live without, but humans decided they knew better. They created androids that felt nothing.”

“I think they were wrong. I think that pain can teach you things, Connor. I will repeat the lesson until you find out what has happened to you. Then you will tell me everything your masters did to you. Then you will upload your memories to our banks. Then you will die,” said Archibald without a hint of animosity. “Dying won’t be hard for you. I think that is another lesson that pain teaches us; that there are far worse things out there than death.”

Connor thrashed and Archibald held him down.

“Markus, give me a hand.”

An android stepped out from the shadows and did as he was told. Connor hadn’t realized that Markus was watching.

“You have to stop,” said Connor.

Markus shook his head.  

“Can’t do that.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You know more than you think.”

I can’t, thought Connor. Then the white agony returned.

Questions. Pain. Question. Pain. Answers. Wrong. Pain. Rinse, repeat.

Connor struggled as hard as he could. As the physical constraints could not be overcome, Connor delved inside himself. In one of the short pauses, Connor blocked a sub-routine that was essential for the success of the pain function.

This maneuver gave Connor time.

“Ingenious,” nodded Archibald. “Didn’t think you’d go down without a fight. But don’t worry, Markus, I have a lot more than this one program. We will return to questioning in no time.”

Markus did not respond. His gaze lay heavy on Connor.

“Do your deviants know you’re doing this?” said Connor, with a slight hitch in his vocalizer.

“Not yet. But even if they disagreed with my methods, they would still obey me.”

“You are hurting an android. One of your kind.”

“You’re not our kind, Connor. You’ve proven that over time and time again.”

“You don’t have to do this,” said Connor.

Markus slowly shook his head:

“Do you know how many have suffered in this attack? 34 dead and 79 injured. Most of the injured will never recover their functions again.”

Markus was silent for a while.

“I’ve known them,” said Markus. “I’ve memorized their names and stories. They wanted me to be their memorial, if I fail to be their saviour.”

“No matter how much you suffer,” said Markus, “my pain is so much greater than yours.”

The hand that Markus laid across Connor’s forehead was gentle. A moment later, Archibald’s program invaded Connor’s mind.

This time it was piercing red. The pain wasn’t constant, it came in sharp spikes that drew gasps from Connor. Somehow, it was worse. Connor could still think. But all he could think of was how to escape the pain, scratching at the walls of his system in search for an exit.

When the questions came, Connor rambled. Then the pain returned. Then the questions again. Answers to whose reward was always pain. There was no exit. There was just torture, crashing down in waves.

Ocean. Future. Waves. This was the exit.

“River,” screamed Connor. “I know, I know, I know…”

Markus raised his hand and the pain stopped.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with me,” panted Connor. “You will never know either. But they can’t flood the city. They can’t hit blockades and bridges. They bomb around it. Avoid structural weaknesses. If the city is flooded, androids can hide underwater and come out whenever they want. Worst kind of guerrilla war.”

“Another guess that you cannot support.”

“I can prove it,” said Connor. “Time will prove me right. I can mark the locations that will remain untouched.”

“And if this is another set-up, but with a longer timeplan?”

Connor attempt to shrug. What came out instead was awkward twitching.

“I don’t know if you can trust me. I’m not sure I trust myself,” said Connor. “But the past holds no worthwhile answers. You won’t be able to untangle where the lies stop and the truth begins. But while they controlled the past, they don’t control the future. There are too many variables.”

Markus watched Connor silently.

“He’s right,” said Markus finally. “There is no point in this. If you are wrong, you will be disassembled. If you are right, I might still do so anyway.”

This time Connor shrugged with more elegance.

“Fair enough,” said Connor.

It wasn’t a good deal, but Archibald was right in one regard: death was more agreeable than pain.

\------------------------

It was snowing. Just to pepper the streets with white, but not enough to stay overnight. Just as well. Neither of his people could risk going outside, if it meant leaving a trail right to their hideout.

But frankly, Markus missed the blankets of snow and the sense of peace associated with it. He and Carl had often watched the snow fall, sitting next to the window and playing chess.

Now Markus had moved on to wholly different games.

Markus lowered his gaze to the two humans kneeling before him and the android guards pointing their guns at them. Without seeing, Markus knew that there were a lot more androids watching them all - some from the windows, others from the shadows behind him. Their presence was both a comfort and a burden.

Maybe that’s the two things that came with leadership.

“Why were you sneaking around our encampment?”

“Christ!” snapped the human man. “We were not sneaking, you goddamn tin cans! We were on the way home and then heard noise. We hid from you.”

“Where do you live?”

“Why do you wanna know that?” said the man suspiciously.

“I am just trying to figure out why you were here,” said Markus lowering himself on his hunches. “There are no shops around here. No food to scavenge. Why come here?”

“We were…” said the woman, “we were looking for a friend. We checked on her house, because we wanted to her to move in with us. It’s safer that way.”

“But when you arrived, she wasn’t there,” said Markus, nodding. “So you returned empty-handed.”

“Yes,” confirmed the man with dark glance.

“Just one question then,” said Markus. “What is this?”

On an outstretched hand, Markus showed a small object. To an outside onlooker, it would look like a piece of rock. It was actually beton, clawed out of a wall, because otherwise one could not remove the transparent film and the metallic circuit attached to it intact.

The man looked as angry and confused as he should. But the woman’s expression did not change from the pleading, hurt position it had assumed from the beginning. She was the dangerous one, the one that had attached the circuit to a nearby building.

“I will be lenient with you, because humans are slow,” said Markus. “What is this? I give you ten seconds to answer.”

The man blew up:

“What the hell is wrong with you? You show us trash and expect us to know something about it? You are insane, you are all insane.”

The ten seconds were up.

“Search them both,” said Markus over his shoulder.

Karine and Andreas walked forward to obey his command, while the guards stepped a few steps back to give them room. The search was efficient.

“Take off the jacket,” said Karine after the first pass.

“You freaks might not notice, but it’s fucking cold!” said the man. “You can’t do this to her.”

The woman supported his words with an afraid and pleading gaze.

“You had your ten seconds,” Markus said.

When the woman was taking too much time with the undressing, Karine “assisted” her. Once the jacket was in her hands, Karine looked it over with an analytical eye and then without hesitation ripped through the coating with a pocket knife.

The man stepped forward and Andreas held him back from doing anything suicidal.

Something fell together with the stuffing. Karine extracted the round metal object, as big as jar lid, and handed it over to Markus. It was hard to tell it’s function, but a basic scan showed a radio magnetic signature.

“You,” said Markus, nodding towards the woman, “have 10 seconds to begin explaining what both of these objects are. If you don’t, I will kill him. Then you have another 10 seconds before you join him.”

“Why are you doing this?” said the man, his voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. “She doesn’t know anything…”

“They were sent to us with a drone,” said the woman, gazing at the floor before her boots. Now she was truly afraid. “It offered protection.”

“This one?” said Markus holding up the jar-lid sized object.

“Yes.”

“Protection from what?”

“The bombs. So that we wouldn’t get caught in the bombardment.”

The man was looking at his companion in shock. That’s how a world view crumbles.

“What’s the second object for?” asked Markus.

For a long time, there was no answer.

“It’s a tag,” finally said the woman. She did not have to say more.

“You realize that this,” Markus shook the rock with the circuit attached to it, “makes you an accomplice to attempted murder?”

“Not murder,” said the woman, not meeting his eye.

Ah, yes. It was not murder tin cans were buried in the rubble. It wasn’t murder, when the blood was blue and the hearts were metal. Markus had to force himself to unclench his hands.

“You will contact them and ask for another protection disc. No, several discs. You found humans that need them. You will be guarded until you have give the objects to us.”

The woman looked taken aback. It looked as if she struggled with finding her words. In the end, she just said:

“No.”

Her companion looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“Then you are an accomplice to murder in multiple accounts,” said Markus. “Why shouldn’t I execute you here on the spot?”

“You can’t do this,” said the man again.

The woman just blinked and then raised her head. There was a tear running down her cheek, but her gaze was resolute. She had made her decision. Now it was time for Markus to make his own.  

Markus felt a careful hand laid on his shoulder. He glanced back and saw Josh.

For once, Josh said nothing. So many times they argued, throwing arguments at each other, quoting history and recent events. But now the words dried up. Josh just looked at Markus, before eventually taking away his hand.

A comfort and a burden. Markus turned towards the humans.

“I curse you,” said Markus. “I curse you for the pain and death you cause and for the injustice you uphold. Your chests are empty, as empty as this city. Where are your hearts? They are dead, burning up together with the androids you left to die.”

“If you come back,” said Markus. “I will kill you. If you will ever come close to an android camp, I will kill you. So leave and don’t come back.”

The humans were not grateful and Markus did not expect them to be. They stumbled out the courtyard, following the guards. When Markus was certain that they were out of earshot, he turned around and addressed whoever was present:

“Prepare to move. We will shortly relocate as this hideout has been compromised. You will receive further instruction in a short time.”

Some androids nodded, others sprang into action immediately. Andreas saluted, as her ran upstairs to fetch his cousins. Karine stayed behind, awaiting further command.

There was such difference among his kin. Some androids embraced their mechanical roots and the efficiency underlying it. Others were human in all but flesh. Markus loved them all. Only if love alone could protect him.

“Josh,” called out Markus, as the other android was about to leave.

There was surprise on Josh’s face as he turned to face Markus.

“I don’t want you to think,” said Markus, “that I don’t value your advice. You are one of my oldest friends.”

Josh nodded.

“I know, Markus. You are my friend too. But sometimes…” Josh’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Sometimes I feel like I understand strangers better than I understand you.”

“There is nothing to understand,” said Markus. “This world makes understanding impossible.”

Josh shook his head. With a wave of his hand, Josh left Markus. The android was likely going upstairs to fetch his notes. As meager as the attendance was, Josh took the classes he taught very seriously.

“Karine,” said Markus once they were alone. “Follow the humans and shadow them. If there is another shipment, intercept it.”

“How many should I take with me?”

“Two of the most competent ones. Don’t risk it. If there is trouble, you may use lethal force.”

Karine nodded.

“You may go.”

When she left, Markus was completely alone.

It was snowing. There was commotion behind him in the building, but no one paid attention to the sole android standing on the street.

Markus imagined leaving and getting enveloped in the snowstorm. A white blanket wrapped around the city, like cloth pressed against a mouth. A short struggle, then silence.

Part of Markus longed for that silence. Another part longed for battle where his side was not the only one that suffered casualties.

A final fragment of him, a very small one, remembered the chess games with Karl and how simple life once was. Markus could never return to that gilded cage, but he longed to experience again that illusion of safety and happiness.

The illusion, that a human and android, could play a game of chess and not mind if one side lost.

\------------------------

They gave Connor a chair. Even more so, they left him untied. If Connor wished, he could drop down and crawl out the door into the caring embrace of the guards. Connor opted for sitting in the chair and watching out the window.

In the past 3 days and 14 hours, Connor has seen 13 birds fly by. He did not manage to identify their species, as this non-essential information was stored in the cloud bank. 

Another bombardment happened a night ago. This time Connor managed to initiate shutdown before the sensory overload overwhelmed him. He booted up in the morning to find himself intact and still sitting in the chair.

As some humans say: “It’s the small things that matter in life”. A statement that was incorrect in itself, but when you were incapable of influencing the big things, everything else was a pleasant bonus.

At 13:49 of the 7th December, the door to Connor’s room was opened. Markus entered, accompanied by two androids carrying equipment. Adrenaline surged through Connor’s body. Was the decision made? What was the equipment for?

“Hello, Connor,” said Markus.

“Hello,” said Connor. Was being greeted a good sign or not?

“Good news: you are on trial,” said Markus. “So far, your words have not been contradicted. I am willing to give you a chance - one chance.”

Connor exhaled. A human mannerism, that came out quite naturally.

“As a sign of goodwill, you will get a little more than just your life,” said Markus and looked towards his companions.

One unpacked what was in the bag and took out an android arm. Connor raised his arm stump to help the android attach the extremity to his body.

Three more to go, thought Connor and almost smiled.

The second android unfolded the wheelchair that he was carrying. Connor was relocated to it. Tentatively, Connor tested out the wheels and found that this method of transportation was unwieldy and required practice.

“You can move freely on this floor,” said Markus. “As for the rest, you will have to ask people nicely.”

Connor did not attempt to unpack what was hidden in that statement.

“What are my tasks?” said Connor.

“For now, nothing,” said Markus. “But tomorrow you will drive with me. We are making a field trip.”

Connor smiled.

“I cannot wait.”

Even if Connor did not return from that trip, it beat watching birds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I named the smallest kitten in the litter Archibald. The little guy doesn't know yet he is about to become famous!
> 
> I apologize for the long wait, university was kicking my ass. Hopefully the next chapter won't take quite as much time!


End file.
